“Arabella,” Mrs. Cricklander said when next morning she lay smoking in her old-rose silk bed, while she went through her usual lessons for the day, “you must give me just a point each about those wretched old two, so that I will remember them again.  I must have a sort of keynote.  Shelley’s would do with that horrible statue of him drowned, at Oxford, that would connect his chain—­but what for Keats?”

So at last Miss Clinker invented a plan, almost Pythagorean in its way, and it proved very helpful to her patroness.

When she went on light, amusing excursions to Egypt and such places, she allowed Arabella to remain with her mother, and these were months of pure happiness to Miss Clinker.

It had not taken Mrs. Cricklander long to conquer London with her money, and her looks, and her triumphant belief in herself.  At the end of two years, when John Derringham was first presented to her, she had almost reached the summit of her ambitions.  To become his wife she had decided would place her there.  For was he not certain to climb to the top of the tree, as well as being the most brilliant and most sought after young man in all England.  Of love—­the love that recks not of place or gain but just gives its being to the loved one—­to such emotion she was happily a complete stranger.  John Derringham attracted her greatly, and until now had successfully evaded all her snares and had remained beyond the thrall of her will.  To have got him to come for this whole week of Easter was a triumph and exulted her accordingly.  She particularly affected politicians, and her house in Grosvenor Square was a meeting-place for both parties, provided the members of each were of the most distinguished type.  And there were not more than two or three people out of all her acquaintances, besides Arabella, who smiled a little over her brilliant culture.

By all this it can be seen that Mrs. Cricklander was a wonderful character—­tenacious, indomitable, full of nerve and deserving of the greatest respect in consequence.

The only thing the least vulgar about her was her soul—­if she had one—­and it is not the business of society to look into such things.  Scrutiny of the sort is left for creatures like the Professor, Cheiron, who have nothing else to do—­but his impressions upon this subject must come in their proper place.

Meanwhile, John Derringham had joined the party on the terrace, and was joyously acclaimed, and then minutely questioned as to the cause of his lengthy absence.  He had not been to church—­that was certain.  He had not been out of the park, because the lodges were not in the direction from which he had been seen advancing.  Where had he been, then?  All alone?  He would not give any account of himself, as was his way, and presently his hostess drew him on ahead and down the terrace steps.  She wanted to point out to him some improvements which she contemplated.  The garden must be the most beautiful in the country—­and he knew so much about gardens, he could tell her exactly which style would suit the house best.